


Family Secrets

by chenria



Category: Original Work
Genre: Asexual Character, Blood and Violence, F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Other, Supernatural Elements, Victorian, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-01-16 01:42:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12332946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chenria/pseuds/chenria
Summary: Freya du Bois is an independent woman ahead of her times. Her life changes when her parents die in a mysterious accident. Together with her brother Charles and the mysterious businessman Landon Beauregard she finds herself caught in the middle of unexpected family secrets, seemingly supernatural forces and the struggle to find her place in society.





	1. Freya du Bois

**Author's Note:**

> While this story is set in the Victorian England in ca. 1870, I don't claim historical accuracy. I am writing this solely for fun.  
> It is also inspired by Amber C. Carlyle's ([Evil Sapphyre's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Evil_Sapphyre/pseuds/Evil_Sapphyre)) "Between the Veil" series - and I use the hints to her universe with permission.

I had always thought it would be my fate to marry some elderly yet wealthy man of the upper class - just as my parents had planned for me. A fate I was not wholeheartedly contend with, but at some point you grow up from idle fancies and dreams of adventure and realize that some things can’t be changed. I am sure things can be changed. But sadly not swift enough for some of us. And I was afraid to be one of those unfortunate souls not lucky enough to see the change actually happening. 

When all my friends started to get married in pompous parties and ceremonies, putting on their false smiles when they looked at their husbands, hoping that they would be carrying a child soon to avoid his advances for a while taught me that it was foolish to hope there was more in store for me. I would count myself lucky if my future husband was not as old as my father. 

Don’t get me wrong, I loved my parents and I could see they tried their best to find a suitable husband for me who would make me happy... But eligible bachelors were scarce and the good ones were always quickly taken by women more charming than me. So, well, I didn’t put my hopes up to ever find happiness in marriage. If I had it my way I wouldn’t need to marry anyway. 

Who I am? Forgive my manners for not introducing myself properly.  
My name is Freya Irene du Bois. With my 24 years I am the youngest child of Eugene and Claudia du Bois, two doting and great parents who offered me more education than many women of my standing could ask for - and more liberties.  
Since I said I am the youngest child you are guessing right that there must be an older sibling. That would be my brother Charles du Bois. He’s only a year older than me but he is the head of the family since our parents died in a tragic accident. That was ten months ago. And ever since then the only good thing happening was the fact that nobody tried to marry me to anyone. 

Now you might wonder why I am not torn with grief about my parents’ early demise and sit here in a chair in a winter garden looking at people chatting amiably in the garden.  
Trust me, I was not able to handle their death for far too long. But after ten months I learned to keep going. Not a single day passes when I don’t miss them. But there comes a point where you can’t shed any more tears, when you come to terms with fate and you realize that they would have wanted for you to keep going. My parents always looked forward to the future. I am sure they wanted me to do the same.

My brother and I moved to the countryside - and to both our misery our aunt, our mother’s sister, insisted to move there with us to keep an eye on me. Now that my mother was gone, as was aunt Geraldine’s husband, she had written it on her banners to make sure Charles and I were taken care of. Never mind that my brother already had quite a fortune before our parents died and now with the inheritance he was even richer and could well afford to pay for our living arrangements and household staff. 

It was just unbelievably boring on the countryside. I felt like I spent every afternoon at another tea party with dull conversation. None of the ladies of the countryside read proper books. All they talked about were the upcoming dances and the newest gossip from the city. And as much as I enjoyed dancing, my aunt made sure I remained in mourning for a whole year.  
And on the downside of everything, our family was not of noble blood. No matter that we had more money than most of the small nobles on the country. They could put a little crown over their family crests and wrinkled their noses whenever they saw me. My brother though, was always a welcome guest and many tried to catch his interest. He was after all a rich and eligible bachelor. Too bad he was not interested in women. 

I on the other hand was not really the most favorable candidate for marriage. While I had quite a generous dowry my wit and sarcasm made me unfavorable for the bachelors on the countryside. Nobody wanted a wife who thought for herself and had opinions.  
Not that I had any intention to marry. God help me. But apparently that was all I was supposed to be interested in. Whenever my aunt caught me reading one of the wretched adventure novels she scowled at me and told me that I would end up as an ugly spinster if I kept filling my head with absurd ideas. No man wanted a woman like me.  
Well, I was my own person anyway. 

But today aunt Geraldine had made sure no books were available for me. It was her turn to throw a pompous dinner party with dancing and music and ... well, dinner. It was a warm summer evening and so everyone was milling around in the garden with small plates and glasses in their hands before the actual dinner would start. 

In my black dress I stood out like a black sheep among a herd of well, white and pastel colored sheep. So I kept to myself in the winter garden. I saw my brother talking to some of his peers from the bank where he worked as one of the managers. Aunt Geraldine was nowhere in sight in the moment and so I seized the moment to not feign any smile. The doors of the terrace were open and I could see a fraction of the garden. I leaned back and stared into the distorted reflection of myself in the polished wood of the piano next to me. 

My auburn hair had been pulled up in an intricately braided bun and was kept in place by a small black hat with silk flowers and feathers of a black swan (the poor animal). My dress would look fashionable if it wasn’t kept in all black. But I had long learned that arguing with aunt Geraldine rewarded you nothing but headaches. So I complied. Just two more, endless months. The black brought out the amber of my eyes and my brother had once told me that they were the nicest jewels I could wear anyway, now that I was also deprived of jewelry except a small silver chain with a cross. 

God forgive me, I loved my parents and miss them every day. But I also miss wearing other colors than black. I miss dancing and going to the theatre, or anywhere, really... I am just 24 years old, apparently the nightmare of any possible mother-in-law in a radius of about the next 50 miles and way too frank and cheeky to be of favorable company for any of the guests. I knew there were whispers that I would never get married at my age. I was just too old. Past any season and well beyond any hope. I just hoped my aunt wouldn’t find me and drag me out to hold polite small talk with some clueless son of a baron... or worse, a baron’s second cousin. 

I glanced to the clock on the far wall. Another half an hour before I could excuse myself to feign tiredness and go to my room to read. 

Whenever I wanted for time to pass it dragged on endlessly. I could hear the laughter in the garden and felt no particular desire to head out and look if there was any conversation entertaining enough to keep me occupied for another... 27 minutes. I didn’t need to suppress a sigh since nobody was near me.  
A group of young women passed the terrace and I envied their light colored dresses. 

“There you are!”  
Aunt Geraldine’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts and I looked around to see where she had come from.  
My aunt stood in the door that led to the hall. She was a tall, slender woman. Her silver hair was pulled back in a simple bun which was adorned with a few pearls. Her green eyes were earnest but they knew kindness and wrinkles of an eventful life marked her face. She was still beautiful for her age. Aunt Geraldine had once been married to a baron - which was probably the only reason that explained all the guests in the garden. They would not bother to show up for anyone who just gained their fortune with stock markets and trading with the former colonies in America. Though I often wondered what was worse, the fact that my family made a fortune with trade with the still young United States of America or that my father was French. Judging from the snobbism of the guests it was probably a mix of both. 

“I tried to hide from the sharks,” I said after my aunt had entered and looked at me with what I thought was dismay. 

“People were asking for you,” she said and gestured to the open door. “Why don’t you at least try to make friends.” There was an unmistakable hint of accusation in her voice. I was not trying hard enough to fit in. 

“They probably just ask for me to get away soon enough in case I was around. And I used to have friends.” I didn’t bother to look up at my aunt and kept sitting on my chair. “In London there were friends I could visit and who called upon me to accompany them to the opera or your beloved tea afternoons.”

Aunt Geraldine cleared her throat. “They were by far the wrong company for a young lady of your standing.”

“That’s what you think.” I now glared up at her. “You made sure they are no longer my friends.”

“I did nothing of that sort,” she said and held her chin up high before she left the room through the open door to the terrace.  
I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly. Yes, I might have been unfair. But whenever I had made arrangements to meet my old friends in the past she always made sure I couldn’t come. I couldn’t travel alone and it had never been convenient for her. At some point my old friends stopped inviting me and never showed up when I tried to invite them. They had not been nobility. They had been mere commoners, like my family had been, sons and daughters of merchants, guild members or shipowners. 

I missed London. 

Another woman I didn’t know walked past the terrace. Her dress was a pastel pink with a dark pink fashionable hat. That was enough. I stood from my chair and left the winter garden. I didn’t bother to start looking for my maid who helped me dress in the morning. Linda was probably entertaining my brother’s coachman in the back of the coach.  
“You!” I called out to a young woman who just hurried through the hall with an empty tablet in her hands. “You are Sharon, right?”

The woman stopped and looked at me with wide eyes. 

“I need your help,” I declared and gestured for her to follow me.

“But Miss, I am needed in the kitchen...” she had a clear voice, but she sounded a little shaky. 

I nodded slowly. “Wait here,” I said and strode past her to the kitchen. It was a buzzing place. Several pots were boiling, cakes and pastries were prepared, glasses of wine filled. The cook shouted orders but all movement stopped when I appeared in the door.  
“I need to borrow Sharon for a moment,” I said with a smile and the old cook, a burly man with a salt-and-pepper moustache and thinning hair glared at me for a moment before he nodded with a huff. 

“That means you all need to work harder,” he bellowed to the others as I returned to the hall. I felt a tad guilty for stealing a helping hand, but I needed one, too. 

Sharon proved to be a tremendous help with changing my dress. She managed to pull all the hair needles out of my hat without ruining my hair and she helped me out of the black corsage and dress and into a green dress with mint colored accents and a fitting hat. It was last year’s fashion but at least it had no crinoline and a high neckline - which still seemed to be en vogue judging from what I saw the other women wear. 

“Your aunt will not approve,” Sharon said carefully as I looked at myself in the mirror. I felt like a human for the first time in months. The green dress complemented the slightly red brown color of my hair and it felt like a burden was taken off of my shoulders. I felt like I could breath. 

“My aunt will have to live with this,” I said with a bright smile as I turned to Sharon. I looked up to the painting of my parents at the wall and nodded to them. I knew they would approve. 

The way down the stairs and through the hall was the easy part. It was going out mingling with the guests that would be the real challenge. I took a few steadying breaths and closed my eyes before I entered the winter garden again and headed straight to the door of the terrace. 

I scanned the crowd and spotted my brother talking to a tall man I didn’t know. This was not a surprise. I hardly knew any of Charles’s peers. Carles was a tall man with dark hair and the same amber eyes like mine. He wore a dark suit with a silver vest and no cravat - aunt Geraldine was probably already fuming about his lack of proper clothing. Well, how bad could it be now that I had shed the black? I took another deep breath and stepped out into the garden.  
With undeterred steps I strode towards Charles. His companion was dressed meticulously perfect in a dark suit with silver vest, polished shoes and dark red cravat. They must have seen me approach because Charles turned to face me and arched a brow before he broke into a grin. “Look at you, little sister,” he said with a laugh. “You are back.” 

“I am,” I said and grinned back at him. “Aunt Geraldine has not spotted me yet, so you better introduce me before she locks me into the deepest dungeon for the dastardly irradical behaviour of mine.” 

“I will try to keep her from throwing you in a dungeon,” Charles laughed and looked over his shoulder for a moment. “She is not currently around, is she?”  
He turned back to me with a sheepish grin before clearing his throat and looking to his companion who regarded both of us with obvious amusement. 

“Beau, may I introduce my sister to you? Freya du Bois.” He gestured at me with a smile. “And Freya, this is Landon Beauregard, businessman and straight from Charleston.”

“Is it already getting boring over there in your new country of glory?” I asked and arched a brow at him. Now that we were introduced I allowed myself to look at him more openly. He had a quite angular but rather attractive face, piercing, alert eyes in the most unique cool grey, a strong nose and sensual lips like Michelangelo’s David. 

“I heard a lot of great things about the wonderful English weather. I wanted to see it for myself. But here I am and the sun is shining.” His voice was rich and deep, pleasant to listen to.

“Give it a day, two at most and you will surely regret you ever dared to complain about seeing the sun,” I replied with a chuckle. 

“Freya Irene du Bois! What do you think you are doing?!” The anger and fury was unmistakable in my aunt’s voice. 

I ducked my head. This was going to get nasty and I steeled myself for a wigging. “Mr. Beauregard, it was nice meeting you. Charles, please burn my diaries in case I don’t come back.” 

“You can count on me,” he shouted after me as my aunt gripped my arm and dragged me back into the house.


	2. Into the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is more to Landon Beauregard than meets the eye. Freya is not sure what to think about him. And something weird is going on, though she can't really say what it is.

Two weeks had passed since I caused the biggest scandal England had ever seen in its long history. At least if you asked aunt Geraldine. My ears still rang when I thought back to her wailing about the disgrace I had brought upon the family name. I was hardly allowed to leave my room ever since. 

If I thought life was boring before, trust me, it’s wose if you are practically locked into your room and all you have to occupy yourself are the window and needleworks. Yes, aunt Geraldine made sure I had no real books to read to not fill my head with more dastardly disastrous ideas. Charles had slipped me a book when he visited and I will be forever thankful for him smuggling “The Count of Monte Cristo” into my room. He might have chosen it with a purpose. My room definitely felt like the Chateau d’If in past days. 

Today was the first day I was allowed to leave my room after two weeks. Aunt Geraldine was in London visiting a friend of hers while I was still more or less grounded for breaking my mourning. In fact, I was not allowed to leave the estate. It was still part of the punishment. Under different circumstances I would have been allowed to go to London as well. And I missed the bustling city. But here I was. Surrounded by rolling hills and sheep. 

With Charles in town as well I was currently alone with the servants. Linda, my maid, would not sell me to my aunt. I knew more of her secrets than she knew of mine. We had a mutual agreement to not rat the other out. Women had to stick together during tough times after all.   
Wagner, our butler, doted on me too much since my parents had died to hold a grudge for my little adventures. He might not agree to them, but he understood. He was like a grandfather to me. 

Though I admit, right now I had probably left him quite worried. Aunt Geraldine had told everyone I wasn’t allowed to leave the estate. Well, the estate had quite a large patch of land surrounding it. It all belonged to the estate, more or less. This wasn’t cheating. It was just me taking a breath before returning to my prison once my aunt would return. And I wasn’t actually alone. I was with my loyal steed. Sindbad was my pride - one of the most handsome arabian horses around, adorably kind and very swift. He had chestnut colored fur and a nearly black mane and tail. My father had bought him for me when I was 15 - and with his 9 years Sindbad was still a rather young and lively horse. And he enjoyed the gallop over the fields. After two weeks of neglect he needed the escape as much as me. 

With aunt Geraldine gone I had also dared to saddle Sindbad with a regular saddle - not the appropriate side-saddle. And I was not wearing my riding dress. My parents had always supported my will to ride astride - mother said it was safer anyway. Only in hunting parties with guests I had to pretend to be a proper lady in a proper side-saddle. 

So I wore men’s riding-pants and comfortable boots and just a simple blouse. I was alone and knew that nobody would take any notice of me out here. 

My hair flew open in the breeze as I dashed over the fields with Sindbad and we both enjoyed the freedom of the moment. It was a short pause of all the obligations and restrictions I faced every day and I broke into a wide smile and couldn’t help laughing in joy. 

A small fence and the small rivulet came in sight. Sindbad already knew the hurdle and I beckoned my horse to go even faster before we jumped over fence and stream with one swift motion. Laughing with excitement about the fluttering feeling in my stomach I let him come to a halt on the other side and took a deep breath. I turned around to see the estate in the far back. Here, where the small wood started, I felt like I could leave the burden of the world behind for just a moment. What I wouldn’t give to break free. But I was too afraid of the consequences. I didn’t dare more than just the small rebellions like riding out alone in pants rather than a dress. 

Sindbad walked slowly along the edges of the wood and I bathed my face in the rays of sunshine that sparkled through the branches of the trees. I felt like my whole energy was refilling itself. 

Suddenly Sindbad nickered and stopped, refusing to keep going. I looked around to see what might have startled him. There was nothing. 

I couldn’t see anyone. Sindbad trampled nervously and a cold wind started to blow and tousled my hair. “Shh, quiet boy,” I muttered and patted his neck and hesitated. His fur was damp with cold sweat. Something was off and a feeling of unease crept up my spine. I felt like someone was watching me. But there was nobody in sight. My eyes scanned the woods in the near vicinity but I couldn’t see any movement and it was when I realized that every sound was gone and even the light of the sun seemed as if it was hiding behind clouds, birds had stopped chirping and even the wind was gone. All I could hear was my own heavy breathing as well as the nervous nickering of my horse. 

“Let’s get home,” I said and bit my lower lip. This was unusual and something seemed definitely not right. My horse’s eyes were wide with fear and his ears lowered. I had a bad feeling about all of this. Sinbad trampled nervously but I managed to reign him around and back to the way where I knew a small bridge would cover the stream. In this condition I didn’t want to dare to jump back over the stream. 

Just as I reached the small gravel path the wind picked up again and I could hear birds once more. It was as if we had stepped out into the light again and left a concealed room. I looked over my shoulder to the small patch of trees. There was nothing to be seen but it gave me the chills. 

“Well, you are a curious sight.”

The sudden words startled me and the outcry of surprise was not ladylike. With wide eyes I reigned Sindbad around and looked at the man a few paces away. Landon Beauregard sat high on a formidable black horse, wore a perfectly fitting riding coat and he looked just meticulously perfect. His brow was drawn up in surprise and his lips showed the faintest amused smile. I had to admit I didn’t expect to see Landon Beauregard around. From what my brother had told me he had business in London. “Mr. Beauregard,” I said and cleared my throat since I still sounded somewhat high-pitched. “You startled me.”

“I beg your forgiveness, Miss du Bois,” he said and bowed his head just enough for me to notice. “I was not prepared to meet someone out here.” 

“Neither was I,” I replied as he approached some more with his horse. I could see that his eyes rested on my legs just a moment too long to be appropriate but I decided to ignore it. Every man would scowl at my openly inadequate outfit as well as sitting astride a horse. That someone saw me like this would be enough to give aunt Geraldine a heart attack if she ever found out. 

“I see you haven’t been incarcerated into the dungeon,” Landon noticed and his piercing grey eyes travelled up to look me in the eyes. 

“What can I say, I was released from my prison,” I replied with a smile. 

“Would I have known you were in need of rescue I would have freed you from your prison,” Landon said with a chuckle and I couldn’t help but join in. 

“Oh well, Mr. Beauregard, I do have the feeling you aren’t the knight in shining armor who comes to the rescue of the damsel in distress. And I fear I am also not distressed enough to warrant rescuing.” 

He arched a brow and I couldn’t help but stare at his lips as he regarded me with a mysterious smile. “Miss du Bois, every woman should allow herself to be rescued every once in a while. If only for the excitement it provides.”

“I have the feeling you are being most inappropriate Mr. Beauregard,” I observed and fidgeted with the reign of my horse to not let him see the blush creeping up on my cheeks. “But may I ask what are you doing out here all by yourself?” My aunt’s estate was the closest around and normally random riders didn’t show up on the outskirts of the woods. 

“Nostradamus deserved a ride after the long passage, I have neglected him for quite some time,” was his swift reply delivered with a shrug. 

Now it was me who curiously arched a brow. “Didn’t my brother tell me you were from Charleston? Don’t tell me you brought your horse with you...”

“Well, he arrived on a later ship since my departure from Charleston was rather sudden, but yes, in fact, I did.” From the way he looked at me now he didn’t seem to want to elaborate so I decided to not ask. 

The wind picked up some more and blew my hair into my face. With a small groan I pushed it out of my face and looked back up to Landon. He seemed undisturbed by the wind and his tousled hair made him look even more daring.

“I should head back home before my aunt decides to return early,” I said with a faint smile and a look over my shoulder to where the estate was. With my kind of luck she would already be waiting for me and then I might actually be sent to Chateau d’If, or Australia. 

“Then I bid you farewell, Miss du Bois,” Beauregard said and tipped his fingers to his temple in greeting. “Be safe on your way home.”

“I wish you the same,” I said and wondered if his words had any special meaning. Had he noticed something awkward as well? But I brushed the thought aside and nodded to him before I reigned Sindbad around.  
“One more thing,” I said looked over my shoulder once more. Landon tilted his head in a curious manner and I tried to ignore his piercing eyes that made me uncharacteristically fumble for words. “If you could keep this between us... how you found me today.” I gestured at my general outfit. “I would owe you a great debt.” 

Beauregard looked at me sternly for a moment before his lips pulled up in a somewhat mischievous smile. As dashing as he looked, he unsettled me a little. He rode closer again and his eyes locked with mine. I felt my mouth going dry and held my breath as he leaned in closer. His breath tickled my ear as he whispered to me: “I’m sure we manage to come to some kind of arrangement to ensure your secret stays safe.”   
He looked up again with a wink and turned his horse around. “Stay safe, Miss du Bois. Until next time.” Then he spurred his horse and rode back into the opposite direction.

When he was out of earshot I remembered to breath again. My chest heaved and I looked up to a darkening sky. Rain was going to come soon after a few merciful days of sun. Yes, it was best I headed home. My fingers were cold as I took a tight hold of the reign again. 

Why did I feel like I just made a deal with the devil?


	3. Out of the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something dark is waiting for Freya as she returns to the estate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains blood and violence. I tried to keep it to a level I hope is not too grisly.

The estate was unusually quiet when I reached the gates again. Normally Peter, our gardener, would be around somewhere to trim the hedges for winter or plow some flowerbeds. But he was nowhere in sight.  
When I nudged Sindbad forward he started to nicker again and stopped before we could pass the gates.

“What is it now, boy?” I asked with a sigh and looked around. It was indeed strange that I couldn’t see anyone. With aunt Geraldine gone it would normally mean for everyone to take things more lightly. Why were no stableboys lingering in the courtyard? I couldn’t hear a single voice or sound. 

Since I couldn’t convince Sindbad to move forward I dismounted him and loosely tied the reins to the gate. I shrugged the feeling of wariness away and moved towards the servant’s entry in the back of the courtyard.

It was definitely too quiet. “Thomas?” I called, hoping the stableboy would help me with my horse. My voice sounded a pitch too high and seemed to echo from the walls. Glancing around I noticed the utter silence again, like before near the woods. There was no sound other than my boots crunching on the gravel and the nervous nickering of my horse a few paces behind me.

“Thomas? Matthew?” I called again.  
No reply. 

This was getting creepy. Where were the servants that were usually occupied in the garden and the court of the estate? “Linda?” My maid was sometimes down in the stables as well, for reasons I didn’t care about.

“Anyone?” I asked in nearly a whisper. My lips were dry and my hands felt cold again. 

I stopped and looked around. The windows were closed and dark. No movement behind curtains. No voices, no clatter of business from the kitchens. “Come guys, this is not funny!” I called out once more. 

There were not even the sounds of birds.  
The hairs in the back of my neck stood up as I approached the door to the servant’s entry. I didn’t want to open it. A feeling of dread hovered over me. It felt like one of those moments when you just know something bad is going to happen. You practically saw the glass falling down and you couldn’t prevent it from shattering on the ground. Just this moment here? It was so much worse. 

My hand was shaking as I reached for the handle and the screeching sound, as I opened the door slowly, was so loud. If somebody was hiding, they now knew I was coming.

I peered inside the small corridor that lead to the kitchen and the larder as well as the rooms of the servants. All lights were snuffed and a foul stench hung in the air. It reminded me of the kennels, just more intense. 

“Robert? Wagner?” I called and ducked my head. My words were echoing from the walls. “Sharon? Anybody?” I said more to myself than to call out again.  
It felt cold as I descended the few stairs. My foot slipped and I lost hold as I feel ungracefully and landed on my back. A groan escaped my lips as the pain shot through my body and for a few moments I couldn’t move. I didn’t dare to. What if something was broken? The pain was throbbing in my back and legs. BUt I couldn’t stay here. 

I sat up and suppressed a whimper of pain and closed my eyes as nausea hit me. I hadn’t noticed I had hit my head until I tried to sit up. Damn, everything was spinning and I felt like the floor beneath me was turning away from me. My conscious mind told me that was ridiculous. The floor wasn’t moving. But my senses still believed it was shaky all around me. I ran a hand through my hair and my breath hitched as I noticed something wet and sticky between my fingers and now on my forehead and in my hair. I swallowed as I glimpsed something dark covering my hands. The light was sparse. The little sunlight through the still open door provided just enough light for me to see muted colors. But from the looks of it... there was blood. Panic shot through me. Was it my blood? Had I hid my head so hard? Did something else fared a severe injury? My breathing was shallow and quick and didn’t help to calm my nausea. “Stay calm,” I muttered to myself and stopped my hand before I could run it through my hair again. Whatever it was. I didn’t want more of it in my hair. 

As I reached for the handle of the stairs I noticed that it was also smeared with blood. And now that my eyes started to grow accustomed to the darkness I could see that the blood also covered large parts of the floor. There were puddles of blood. Still shimmering with the faint light that shone through the door. 

I stumbled back up on my feet and my eyes darted around. I didn’t even notice that my clothes were smeared with blood. All I could think of was that something horrible was going on.  
With shaking hands I felt around the walls to the kitchen. My head was still spinning and the nausea still let me see the world as if I was on a ship in stormy sea. I knew I should turn around and leave. Run as far away as possible. But something was drawing me in. I needed to know what was going on. 

There was blood everywhere. 

When I pushed the door to the kitchen open I stared at the scene in front of me, unable to move or scream. Sharon, the young kitchen help, was sprawled on the floor, her throat ripped open and dead eyes wide with terror seemed to stare at me. I couldn’t breathe. Before the fireplace was another body. From the way the limbs were sprawled around him I doubted that they were all still connected to his body and bile rose in my throat. I couldn’t see the face but I assumed it was Robert, the apprentice cook. 

I don’t know how long I stood there, staring in terror and unable to scream or move. The pictures would forever be burned in my memory.  
But then I heard something. I sounded like a whimpering of a child. Was someone still alive? I strained to listen and was certain the sounds came from the larder. They had to. I nearly slipped in something gooey and pressed my hand to my mouth to not scream.  
The cook was sprawled dead on the floor and his head was cracked open. A sob escaped my lips and I hurried forward, away from the scene. The door to the larder was on the other side of the room, only a few feet away now. 

When I finally reached it and my trembling hands got a hold of the handle I could hear the whimpering again.  
I opened the door and froze in shock. Instead of finding a survivor in this nightmare Linda was staring back at me. She clutched her belly and I could see that she was beyond any help. When her dull eyes looked at me she focused them in seemingly effort. She tried to speak but no words reached my ears. But I could read the word she formed with her lips. “Run.”

I spun around. The last thing I remember, before everything went black as something slammed me to the ground, were fangs and claws and the stench of rot and burnt flesh.


	4. Hallucination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freya wakes up after the attack and is not quite sure what happened. Little does she know that things are about to change forever.

Pain was the first sensation I felt when I started to wake up. The second sensation was fear. Was the thing still near? How long was I gone? Had I fainted? Where was I? I opened my eyes in panic and sat up with a gasp. Nausea instantly returned but I looked around startled as I realized that I was in a bed. My hand was gripping soft sheets as I tried to fight the feeling of the room spinning away under me. The nausea overcame me and I dropped back to bed whimpering because the nausea in my head wouldn’t pass. 

There were voices coming from somewhere and the sound of a door opening. A few moments later someone took a hold of my hand. I carefully opened my eyes and slowly moved my head to look up. “Charles,” I muttered and tears of relief stung my eyes. “I’m not dead...”

“No you aren’t,” he said. His voice sounded unusually rough and he looked less groomed that he normally did. I tried to move and Charles helped me to slowly sit up in bed. Slowly was the key to beat the nausea and I leaned back against the soft pillow before I carefully looked around. I didn’t know the room. It was small with simple but tidy furniture. The dark blue curtains were drawn but judging from the light shining through the small gap it was bright daylight. On the bedstand stood a vase with fresh flowers and a bowl with water and a cloth. 

“You are in the steward’s house,” Charles said and pulled a chair closer to the bed to sit next to me. 

I looked around at nothing in particular for a moment and just listened. There was the chirping of birds as well as people talking outside the window. Then I remembered. It was as if a gate was opened and the most recent memories flooded back in. I grasped for Charles’s hand and looked at him with wide eyes. “We aren’t safe here! Linda... and Robert and...” My voice broke and I pressed a hand to my mouth. “They...”

“I know,” Charles replied and grippedmy hand reassuringly. “We can talk about everything later. You need to rest first. You slept for nearly three days.”

I stared at him. “Three... days...” How was that possible? I slowly shook my head and stopped. It just brought back nausea. “No!” I urged. “We can’t stay here. It will come back. I know it will. How is aunt Geraldine? How are the others? We need to warn them! We can’t stay here.”

“Freya, please,” Charles soothed and looked tired. I didn’t know if it was because of lack of sleep - because he surely looked like he hadn’t slept in a while - or because he was annoyed of me. I had gotten such a face before. But mostly only when he was tired of something I had done. “Aunt Geraldine is fine. She is... overseeing matters at the estate. Our servants are...” Charles shook his head.

“What are they?” My hands trembled and I could feel Charles squeezing them once more. A feeling of dread and fear returned. I knew what he was about to say but I didn’t want to hear it and at the same time needed to get it spelled out so it would get some sense of reality. 

“They are... dead.” Charles muttered. 

I stared at him. A sudden emptiness spread inside of me at the thought. They couldn’t be dead. But then the pictures from the kitchen returned. Robert’s strangely distorted body, Sharon’s dead eyes... Nausea and fear grew too strong and I managed to grip the bowl from my nightstand. I didn’t care that I spilled most of the water on my bed before the bile rose in my throat and I couldn’t help throwing up. Tears were running down my cheeks as sobs shook my body and I felt so sick. 

“We can’t stay here...” I whimpered.

“It was an animal attack,” Charles explained after a moment and put a reassuring hand on my back and took the bowl out of my hands again when I nodded that I was finished. He put it on the floor and frowned at me as I stared at him in bewilderment. 

“That was no animal,” I said. How could they even think that? 

“The police believes that a pack of starved, stray dogs attacked and-”

“This is ridiculous.” I couldn’t believe what he was saying. “I know that I wasn’t attacked by a dog... It was a man... with fangs and claws. And I know this sounds unbelievable but you have to believe me. There were no dogs. How did I even survive? Why am I here?”

“Beau... I mean, Landon Beauregard saved you,” Charles said. “He was riding out and found you. He said it was a wild dog who had attacked you.” 

I shook my head. “Then he’s lying.” My breathing was ragged and panic spread through my body again. “This... thing... was no dog. Please, Charles, you have to believe me. We aren’t safe here.”

Charles glanced to the door and then back to me. His eyes were full of concern and something I couldn’t quite place. All I wanted for him to believe me. How could he even think a dog, or several, could do something like that? More tears were stinging my eyes and I bit my lips. 

“Freya, please. Dogs attacked you,” Charles said once more, this time with more urgency. 

“No...” I muttered.

“Landon Beauregard is certain of it. And even... even if what you say is true. If you insist on a beast attacking you, they will put you in a hospital and...” Charles ran a hand through his messy hair. “I can’t lose you, Freya.”

I just looked at my brother and before I could say something the door opened again and a man I didn’t know entered. He was tall, with a stern face and earnest eyes. His face was narrow and his lips set in a firm line and his dark hair was combed back. He wore a grey suit and he didn’t look like any of the nobles from around and also not like one of the servants. 

Charles looked over his shoulder and rose from the chair. “Freya, this is-”

“I am Inspector Callum Wesby from Scotland Yard. I apologize for my intrusion, Miss du Bois, but I have a few questions.” His voice was clear and calm but the way his eyes shone I knew there was temper hidden underneath the facade. 

“Scotland Yard... we aren’t in London...” It was the first thing that came to my mind when he introduced himself and I could see the faintest smile on his lips.

“Well observed, Miss du Bois. I was in the area when word reached a colleague from the County Police. And they have... let’s say, not the expertise Scotland Yard can offer in such a delicate case. So I was asked to assist.”

“I see,” I replied and looked at him. 

“Do you remember what happened to you?” he asked and pulled a small notebook and a pencil out of his coat. 

I could see Charles looking at me with an earnest expression and I looked at my hands which were still gripping the blanket. “I... all I remember is that something jumped at me... there were fangs and... the smell of wet dog...” I shrugged. “Then I woke up here.” 

“Wet dog? Are you certain?” Inspector Wesby asked and wrote something down.

“Yes.” I bit my tongue. Charles was right. If the police thought I was hallucinating it wouldn’t help any of us. 

He didn’t say anything and just took another note.

“Where were you before you were attacked?” he continued to inquire.

He probably already knew from Landon Beauregard. From the way he looked at me I knew he was daring me to lie. 

“Out, riding.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.” I sighed. “My aunt was gone, I thought it was the perfect opportunity to sneak away and ride out.”

More writing and Inspector Wesby just nodded. “Is there anyone who could confirm this?”

“I’ve met Mr. Beauregard near the creek wood. I am sure he already told you.” 

“He must have missed that detail,” Wesby replied and looked at me for a long moment. I could see that he was judging me for behaving out of protocol. A woman who was riding out alone and met a man while she wasn’t attended by an elderly relative - scandalous. But I held his gaze without flinching.   
After a moment Wesby cleared his throat. “That will be all for now, Miss du Bois.”

I simply nodded and looked at Charles who led Wesby out of the room. 

This could have gone better. But my head still felt foggy and I wasn’t ready to spin elaborate tales and remember them in a day, let alone half an hour. So the truth was the safest route for now. And I had tried not to lie. I had seen fangs and smelled wet dog. I just forgot to mention that it looked like a human with fangs. This made no sense. And maybe I was hallucinating after all? 

First my parents died of a wolf attack and now I was attacked by a dog monster? Was this really a coincidence? Maybe I needed to look into what happened to my parents with a new mindset. 

This was insane. But it would change everything.


End file.
